Both man and bed were equally
creased and stale
after a night of abandon
involving chips, beer, a sofa,
and many many regrets from the week
and as he sat on the edge,
he glanced at his briefcase
as it lay haphazardly on the floor
and he shouted,
“Is that all there is?!”
A hushed frenzy
I can see so far backward
It’s nice in the dark
Watching shapes change
Will you stay
The boxes are full but not sorted
The air here makes me dizzy
Maybe I’m not breathing right
Pulled through hallways
Home is always further away
They watched us from the hill
Dust swirled in the night like a galaxy
Belief is in a fern
Roots are not meant to be forever
Let’s unlatch the fence
Wild things will become overgrown
The nearness of trees
My hands are empty. I brush my teeth and scrape the day from my skin. Such a lot of maintenance, with keeping my body ready, cleaning dishes, folding clothes, and praying for relief from an encroaching sadness. I imagine lots of things that aren’t true. There seems to be a correlation between peace and the nearness of trees. I think heaven will be the woods, dark and deep. I like the dark. These days are full of nail trimming and foraging shiny stores for food. This is not heaven.
Burgundy
An accidental barrow
with hearthside nuts awaiting
a deeper connection
to the world above.
There are many ways to chew
and swallow, none of which are forever.
There are no accidents,
said the radish to the rutabaga
though true harvest feels arbitrary,
like where hearts or leaves fall.
With eyes closed (night)
I like when quiet falls
roughly over the day as night takes
sound and vision away
It’s easy to find you
with eyes closed and heart open
because you lead me home
We fly with no words
sometimes too close to bear
the mountains we’ve made
I like coming back
to the same places of night
even if I’ve changed
The Word Rummager 